Milo was feeling mixed emotions to say the least. Part of her was happy at meeting new people and part of her just wanted to slaughter them all. Torture them. And sadly the crueler part happened to be the larger. She wanted blood. Blood. But she would have to calm herself. The more crazy she acted the less people would be around her. So no matter what she would have to stay calm. Nicer. She couldn't draw people closer without a good personality. And if people weren't close, no food, not blood, no death, no nothing. Nothing of importance would come from a good personality. Living things were so confusing.
3 Guests
viewing this page
BlackCat Ruler of the Underworld ~Nya
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
NorthernGR Schrodinger's Roleplayer
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Dirion sat hunched over a small table that was nestled next to the warm hearth. He was currently in an ale induced slumber, snoring to himself softly while he drooled slightly on the table. Well he had been anyway. He couldn't make it a minute now without someone slamming the front door open, stomping and traipsing across the wooden floor, kicking up splinters and dirt everywhere, before shouting about this and that. No, Dirion would love nothing more that to sleep rather than think. But it appears it 'twas not to be. He now was quite lucid, lucid and drunk.... Now that he thought about it that may be a contradiction. But who cares.
With quite the audible groan Dirion sat up straight in his chair. A few times along the way he slid halfway down it. But now he sat like a- like a- Oh blast it he was too drunk for this. He was sitting up. Looking around he noticed that the rathole he currently called home was far more packed than it usually was. In fact while he was looking the place over he saw colorful letters appear in air next to one girl. Blimey, maybe he was drunker than he thought. He checked his mug of ale to see how much was left. Sitting at the bottom was one measly sip left of the spirit. Dirion slammed it down in one greedy gulp and shoved back his chair. Stranding up to get another round. He could worry about the consequences tomorrow.
As Dirion quite literally stumbled his way towards the bar he tripped over a loose floorboard. On his way down he saw a knife, he wasn't sure what kind, go flying right for his head. Or more accurately right over his head since he was fortunate enough to have fallen at that exact moment. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't fallen then. At the very least he wouldn't have his tab to worry about anymore. And even more the knife may have cut off some of his evil dyed grey hairs. That was the last time he ever bought dye from a man in an alley.
While on the ground Dirion look up to see a particularly feminine voice speak, "Continue at your own peril, bard." What?! Dirion had hardly touched an instrument in his life! Well, except for that.. one time. But that's beside the point! How could someone mistake him for a bard? And even more why would they begin to throw cutlery at him? Dirion had never met what he could only assume to be a drow as his assailant. But if this is how they all acted he could happily say one was enough.
With his head spinning Dirion got up from the floor. He already felt sick at the thought of all the grime and filth he must have just bathed himself in. He swore since he had been here he hadn't seen Busker clean the floors once. Dirion wouldn't be surprised if he caught a terminal illness just from his short time on the cesspool of a floor.
As he started once again walking he heard some more commotion behind him, more talking, but all it did was confuse him and give him more of a headache than he already had. However the music that kicked up a second did serve to lighten his mood ever so slightly so. See that, that! That person behind him who was strumming a storm is what you could qualify as a bard!
Dirion finally made his stop at the bar. Instantly leaning and putting most of his weight onto the ale covered counter-top. He clumsily slammed his mug in front of Busker and merely slurred out, "More." He scanned over his fellow bar mates to see what new faces there were. The most he saw at the moment was a young lad in what Dirion could tell from his time in court was noble attire, a young girl in blue armor with one hell of a sword, to be honest he felt like he should recognize her but right now everything was a bit of an ale colored blur, and then next to both of them was a girl who Dirion dearly prayed Busker hadn't given any ale to. She had on an eyepatch and- Well now that Dirion thought about she looked a lot like that staff-hand behind the bar, except smaler. Uhm, what's her face. The girl that growls at him whenever he spills his ale. Uh.. Fate, Fate! It's Fate. Fate. Dirion let out a small grin when he managed to remember her name.
And finally he looked over at the Drow that he was pretty sure had just thrown a knife at him for thinking he was a bard, when there was an actual bard over in the corner strumming away! The minute his eyes landed back on her Dirion gave a dark scowl and a drunken grunt and said to her, "M'not a bleedin bard."
@ViolentViolet @Mokley
With quite the audible groan Dirion sat up straight in his chair. A few times along the way he slid halfway down it. But now he sat like a- like a- Oh blast it he was too drunk for this. He was sitting up. Looking around he noticed that the rathole he currently called home was far more packed than it usually was. In fact while he was looking the place over he saw colorful letters appear in air next to one girl. Blimey, maybe he was drunker than he thought. He checked his mug of ale to see how much was left. Sitting at the bottom was one measly sip left of the spirit. Dirion slammed it down in one greedy gulp and shoved back his chair. Stranding up to get another round. He could worry about the consequences tomorrow.
As Dirion quite literally stumbled his way towards the bar he tripped over a loose floorboard. On his way down he saw a knife, he wasn't sure what kind, go flying right for his head. Or more accurately right over his head since he was fortunate enough to have fallen at that exact moment. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't fallen then. At the very least he wouldn't have his tab to worry about anymore. And even more the knife may have cut off some of his evil dyed grey hairs. That was the last time he ever bought dye from a man in an alley.
While on the ground Dirion look up to see a particularly feminine voice speak, "Continue at your own peril, bard." What?! Dirion had hardly touched an instrument in his life! Well, except for that.. one time. But that's beside the point! How could someone mistake him for a bard? And even more why would they begin to throw cutlery at him? Dirion had never met what he could only assume to be a drow as his assailant. But if this is how they all acted he could happily say one was enough.
With his head spinning Dirion got up from the floor. He already felt sick at the thought of all the grime and filth he must have just bathed himself in. He swore since he had been here he hadn't seen Busker clean the floors once. Dirion wouldn't be surprised if he caught a terminal illness just from his short time on the cesspool of a floor.
As he started once again walking he heard some more commotion behind him, more talking, but all it did was confuse him and give him more of a headache than he already had. However the music that kicked up a second did serve to lighten his mood ever so slightly so. See that, that! That person behind him who was strumming a storm is what you could qualify as a bard!
Dirion finally made his stop at the bar. Instantly leaning and putting most of his weight onto the ale covered counter-top. He clumsily slammed his mug in front of Busker and merely slurred out, "More." He scanned over his fellow bar mates to see what new faces there were. The most he saw at the moment was a young lad in what Dirion could tell from his time in court was noble attire, a young girl in blue armor with one hell of a sword, to be honest he felt like he should recognize her but right now everything was a bit of an ale colored blur, and then next to both of them was a girl who Dirion dearly prayed Busker hadn't given any ale to. She had on an eyepatch and- Well now that Dirion thought about she looked a lot like that staff-hand behind the bar, except smaler. Uhm, what's her face. The girl that growls at him whenever he spills his ale. Uh.. Fate, Fate! It's Fate. Fate. Dirion let out a small grin when he managed to remember her name.
And finally he looked over at the Drow that he was pretty sure had just thrown a knife at him for thinking he was a bard, when there was an actual bard over in the corner strumming away! The minute his eyes landed back on her Dirion gave a dark scowl and a drunken grunt and said to her, "M'not a bleedin bard."
@ViolentViolet @Mokley
SilverWolfAngel The closer you look / The less you see
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Nothing very strong. Just something warm.
"Sure." Fate grinned pausing for a sec to read the next line of text;
Your eye is very pretty.
"Danks." But she wasn't entirely sure the girl had heard her, as she had turned to the rude rich boy.
“Haha, oh dearest me, where are my manners, I must apologize for overstepping my boundaries. Surely, I mean not to intrude. I was merely enraptured by this lovely young lady’s display. I’ve not seen anything like it before in my li--”
Fate just kept staring, knowing her cold glare could normally shut most people up eventually. It was getting sooo tempting to hit him, but…… she held off, mimicking a statue for all it was worth.
My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.
Well that explained the writing.
Snapping her attention back to the job at hand, Fate swung away from the bar itself, snagged a fairly clean tankard, and wiped it off quickly with a cloth before slopping in a dash of ale and filling the rest with hot water.
Quickstepping it back to the bar, she placed the tankard carefully down, noting that another girl, lugging a fair sized sword, had joined the other two. Fate just shrugged, paying little attention to the conversation, at least until the one eyed girl to whom she had served the ale wrote in the air once more.
1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.
Gah, I'm so sorry. Yeah, not really Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Ah, so she was called Milo? Nice name, nice name. She tucked the little snippet of information away for possible later use.
Turning her attention to the rest of the room, Fate was ever so slightly shocked to see how it had seemed to fill up while she wasn't paying attention. She watched Wink slip out the door, with a dwarf following behind. "Huh" she mused, deciding Busker had sent Wink off to fetch something. Turning back she got diverted by a voice, followed by a thrum of music. It was interesting to note, out of the corner of her eyes, that the rich boy didn't seem to like the music. Fate grinned, maliciously. Nice.
She made her way over to where a new patron had puffed down at the bar, @Keplo "didja want something?" she offered but was distracted by a knife traversing the room. Fate snapped to attention, paying utter attention to the knife, her senses springing into hyper alert, ready and roaring for a fight, so she was disgruntled when the bard at who the knife had been aimed didn't take the bait. "Garrr." she snorted, expressing her disappointment.
For the most part she ignored Dirion as he shambled up to the bar, she often struggled to deal with him, he seemed to have a habit of spilling his ale everywhere, everywhere! "More." he demanded, slurring his word, Fate shrugged; he'd have to pay for it all eventually, who was she to deny him racking up his tab? Flicking her hair around she slipped off to grab a jug-full of watered down ale, making it back just in time to see Dirion grin. Eying him she poured his drink, grinning slightly when he turned to the Drow with a; "M'not a bleedin bard."
@NorthernGR
Looking closely at her, the Drow that is, Fate wondered where she might have seen her before, as she seemed awfully familiar, but she couldn't think why. Now however didn't seem quite the time to be asking. @ViolentViolet
"Sure." Fate grinned pausing for a sec to read the next line of text;
Your eye is very pretty.
"Danks." But she wasn't entirely sure the girl had heard her, as she had turned to the rude rich boy.
“Haha, oh dearest me, where are my manners, I must apologize for overstepping my boundaries. Surely, I mean not to intrude. I was merely enraptured by this lovely young lady’s display. I’ve not seen anything like it before in my li--”
Fate just kept staring, knowing her cold glare could normally shut most people up eventually. It was getting sooo tempting to hit him, but…… she held off, mimicking a statue for all it was worth.
My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.
Well that explained the writing.
Snapping her attention back to the job at hand, Fate swung away from the bar itself, snagged a fairly clean tankard, and wiped it off quickly with a cloth before slopping in a dash of ale and filling the rest with hot water.
Quickstepping it back to the bar, she placed the tankard carefully down, noting that another girl, lugging a fair sized sword, had joined the other two. Fate just shrugged, paying little attention to the conversation, at least until the one eyed girl to whom she had served the ale wrote in the air once more.
1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.
Gah, I'm so sorry. Yeah, not really Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Ah, so she was called Milo? Nice name, nice name. She tucked the little snippet of information away for possible later use.
Turning her attention to the rest of the room, Fate was ever so slightly shocked to see how it had seemed to fill up while she wasn't paying attention. She watched Wink slip out the door, with a dwarf following behind. "Huh" she mused, deciding Busker had sent Wink off to fetch something. Turning back she got diverted by a voice, followed by a thrum of music. It was interesting to note, out of the corner of her eyes, that the rich boy didn't seem to like the music. Fate grinned, maliciously. Nice.
She made her way over to where a new patron had puffed down at the bar, @Keplo "didja want something?" she offered but was distracted by a knife traversing the room. Fate snapped to attention, paying utter attention to the knife, her senses springing into hyper alert, ready and roaring for a fight, so she was disgruntled when the bard at who the knife had been aimed didn't take the bait. "Garrr." she snorted, expressing her disappointment.
For the most part she ignored Dirion as he shambled up to the bar, she often struggled to deal with him, he seemed to have a habit of spilling his ale everywhere, everywhere! "More." he demanded, slurring his word, Fate shrugged; he'd have to pay for it all eventually, who was she to deny him racking up his tab? Flicking her hair around she slipped off to grab a jug-full of watered down ale, making it back just in time to see Dirion grin. Eying him she poured his drink, grinning slightly when he turned to the Drow with a; "M'not a bleedin bard."
@NorthernGR
Looking closely at her, the Drow that is, Fate wondered where she might have seen her before, as she seemed awfully familiar, but she couldn't think why. Now however didn't seem quite the time to be asking. @ViolentViolet
Strafe drnt drnt drnt
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
@karamonnom
Edward’s attempt to cover up his disgust did not seem to make it past Pallas’ keen eyes.
"Edward, is everything okay?" She asked, with genuine concern. Oh what a lovely thing it was to be fussed over by a woman as kind and true as she. Though she may not be noble by title, she is surely noble in heart, Edward thought.
Nonetheless, he had to play his part, so he smiled and raised his eyebrow quizzically. “Whatever could you possibly mean? The music? I was merely stricken at his masterful rendition of Galeas and Griselda. It just so happens to be one of my favor--”
THUNK-- the sound of a blade piercing into wood silenced the tavern, and Edward stood perfectly still, not moving an inch as he listened to the exchange between Ealdwine and the oddly colored girl. One thing he knew, at least, was that his former music instructor was as cocksure as ever. Even when faced with flying knives.
As the music began playing again, Edward resumed his cover up. “Well as I was saying, dear Pallas, Galeas and Griselda is a lovely piece of music, and it would be a travesty not to draw attention to this wonderful bard’s performance,” Edward stated with a strain, lying through his teeth with a smile. The last thing he ever wanted to do in life was praise Ealdwine even for an apt choice in wardrobe.
@BlackCat
He turned to Milo, who seemed to have been ignoring him this whole time.
“Ah! In another short order of business, I must apologize again to you, dear Milo. I’ve not yet introduced myself,” Edward said. “My name is Edward Hart-Ellington, heir to the Hart Ellington nobility and estate. Pleased to be at your service.” Edward removed his hat, and bowed, thinking that perhaps this would help the girl brighten up. Who could resist his irresistible charm? No one, that’s who. That’s why it’s irresistible, Edward mused amusedly.
Edward’s attempt to cover up his disgust did not seem to make it past Pallas’ keen eyes.
"Edward, is everything okay?" She asked, with genuine concern. Oh what a lovely thing it was to be fussed over by a woman as kind and true as she. Though she may not be noble by title, she is surely noble in heart, Edward thought.
Nonetheless, he had to play his part, so he smiled and raised his eyebrow quizzically. “Whatever could you possibly mean? The music? I was merely stricken at his masterful rendition of Galeas and Griselda. It just so happens to be one of my favor--”
THUNK-- the sound of a blade piercing into wood silenced the tavern, and Edward stood perfectly still, not moving an inch as he listened to the exchange between Ealdwine and the oddly colored girl. One thing he knew, at least, was that his former music instructor was as cocksure as ever. Even when faced with flying knives.
As the music began playing again, Edward resumed his cover up. “Well as I was saying, dear Pallas, Galeas and Griselda is a lovely piece of music, and it would be a travesty not to draw attention to this wonderful bard’s performance,” Edward stated with a strain, lying through his teeth with a smile. The last thing he ever wanted to do in life was praise Ealdwine even for an apt choice in wardrobe.
@BlackCat
He turned to Milo, who seemed to have been ignoring him this whole time.
“Ah! In another short order of business, I must apologize again to you, dear Milo. I’ve not yet introduced myself,” Edward said. “My name is Edward Hart-Ellington, heir to the Hart Ellington nobility and estate. Pleased to be at your service.” Edward removed his hat, and bowed, thinking that perhaps this would help the girl brighten up. Who could resist his irresistible charm? No one, that’s who. That’s why it’s irresistible, Edward mused amusedly.
AgentFallenSoul The Forsaken
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
@karamonnom@Strafe@BlackCat
Seloria watched Pallas enter the tavern and she sighed "I am tired of staying in the shadows, master wo-" she felt as if her shoulder blade was burning suddenly and sighed "Oh course, even hear the old geaser can still hear me, damn him..." she rubbed her neck and fixed the bandages around her body, face and sword. Putting her hood on, the shredded ends wisping in the wind. Most would call her scantly clad but it was her disguise and it seemed to be working.
Walking towards the tavern, several people approached her, to which she quickly turned their offers down. One especially was very pushy and found his arm suddenly snapped from "natural" causes. Upon reaching the Tavern, she breathed out "Don't get caught...show time..." she walked through the door and was instantly hit with the noise. Looking around she scanned for Pallas until she saw her talking to a man and what seemed to be a little girl, though on closer inspection was...interesting to say the least. She thought about it and shrugged her shoulders "a good drink never hurt anyone right?" she moved past tables and stopped down the way from Pallas, Edward and Milo.
Looking she watched the three converse and she chuckled to herself "So this a friend of Pallas, good to see she's doing well at least" Paying for more drinks she looked at the two "On me" she passed the bar tender more money and stood up, stretching and looking around. Grabbing the two drinks, she walked over to Edward and Pallas "Seems i'm new to this place, and you three" she looked at Milo and half smiled "Seem to be some of the nicer of people here, where could an oldie like me find a black smith? It seems old faithful has given out on me" she motioned towards the bandaged sword at her waist.
Seloria watched Pallas enter the tavern and she sighed "I am tired of staying in the shadows, master wo-" she felt as if her shoulder blade was burning suddenly and sighed "Oh course, even hear the old geaser can still hear me, damn him..." she rubbed her neck and fixed the bandages around her body, face and sword. Putting her hood on, the shredded ends wisping in the wind. Most would call her scantly clad but it was her disguise and it seemed to be working.
Walking towards the tavern, several people approached her, to which she quickly turned their offers down. One especially was very pushy and found his arm suddenly snapped from "natural" causes. Upon reaching the Tavern, she breathed out "Don't get caught...show time..." she walked through the door and was instantly hit with the noise. Looking around she scanned for Pallas until she saw her talking to a man and what seemed to be a little girl, though on closer inspection was...interesting to say the least. She thought about it and shrugged her shoulders "a good drink never hurt anyone right?" she moved past tables and stopped down the way from Pallas, Edward and Milo.
Looking she watched the three converse and she chuckled to herself "So this a friend of Pallas, good to see she's doing well at least" Paying for more drinks she looked at the two "On me" she passed the bar tender more money and stood up, stretching and looking around. Grabbing the two drinks, she walked over to Edward and Pallas "Seems i'm new to this place, and you three" she looked at Milo and half smiled "Seem to be some of the nicer of people here, where could an oldie like me find a black smith? It seems old faithful has given out on me" she motioned towards the bandaged sword at her waist.
Keplo Non-Smoker / Certifiable Satirist
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
"didja want something?"
The beaming demon didn’t make a move when questioned, only gave a low hiss as he pressed hot air out through his teeth like a machine releasing steam. Oh, how delightful, a little lycan. He twitched as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a brilliant idea washed over him. Using the whole of his hand, he slowly pushed away the bony veil from his view and cranked his neck to again survey the room and all its pawns. @SilverWolfAngel
"M'not a bleedin bard."
Immediately, Jargo focused on the slurred voice of the tossed man a mere arm’s reach away, moving like a slippery snake to bring himself at Dirion’s side as if comforting an old friend.
”Oh, gasp! What is this I see?”
Over-exaggerated and far too loud, the demon’s scratchy voice carried like a bad note into the whole of the tavern as he reached for a perfectly normal patch of skin on Dirion’s neck. However, as Jargo’s unclean hand retreated, warm blood smeared along the places his fingertips touched--leaving behind no cuts only crimson stains. To add to his dramatization, he quickly plucked the nearest dagger from the bar wood with his free hand and placed it into the drunk’s grasp, assuming the alcohol would inspire rash paranoia as he showed off his other bloodied appendage.
”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all.
@ViolentViolet Flicking his crazed gaze across the room, he knew he would need to move fast before the gray beauty could sink her teeth in the neck of the disrespectful alcoholic. Of any creature he had come across, the dark elves were unmatched for their shockingly graceful speed, which meant time was percious.
“I believe the bard and his empress were throwing knives at you, my fine drunk friend.”
Jargo pointed an accusing finger before offering the inebriated man a gentle nudge in the right direction, hoping to tip the first domino in line. @Illogical Jim@NorthernGR
The proud joker than removed himself back against the bar to smear the remainder of the blood off his hand. His impossibly wide grin stretching further across his face as the smell of metallic iron and ethanol mixed into the air, knowing full well that even the least sensitive of noses could pick up the scent. Would it capture a werewolf?
The demon envied himself as a magian and nodded his head. Inconspicuously he popped the tiny yellow body of a blood-drained finch into his rapidly gnashing mouth, silently thanking the avian for its performance before turning his attention on the final group. Jargo’s movements more like a happy dance at this point as he lovingly invaded the space of the youthful nobleman-- displaying a relaxed smile littered with thin bones and feathers.
”Aren’t you the prettiest angel? Has the Maker called you down to Earth to play an undertaker?”
Unable to hold a dignified composure long, the demon snickered with blatant mockery and fiddled with the little prince’s neck ruffle then adding a rude noise and ripped himself away. @Strafe
Hastily, Jargo slinked back to his original stool at the middle of the bar and bubbled with anticipation, almost ready to burst at the seams. Waving a hand in the air, he gave a singsong request before settling in for a show,
“Oh, Barmaster, could you fetch a broom and mop?” @Mokley
Again the luckmeister found himself waiting, feeling too clever for his own good and looking like the perfect idiot. Oops, had he forgotten? How well would the lady hunter and the newcomer handle the blood-fueled frenzy of an unbalanced siren? The thought made his body feel warm and tingly. @BlackCat @karamonnom @AgentFallenSoul
Let’s begin…
The beaming demon didn’t make a move when questioned, only gave a low hiss as he pressed hot air out through his teeth like a machine releasing steam. Oh, how delightful, a little lycan. He twitched as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a brilliant idea washed over him. Using the whole of his hand, he slowly pushed away the bony veil from his view and cranked his neck to again survey the room and all its pawns. @SilverWolfAngel
"M'not a bleedin bard."
Immediately, Jargo focused on the slurred voice of the tossed man a mere arm’s reach away, moving like a slippery snake to bring himself at Dirion’s side as if comforting an old friend.
”Oh, gasp! What is this I see?”
Over-exaggerated and far too loud, the demon’s scratchy voice carried like a bad note into the whole of the tavern as he reached for a perfectly normal patch of skin on Dirion’s neck. However, as Jargo’s unclean hand retreated, warm blood smeared along the places his fingertips touched--leaving behind no cuts only crimson stains. To add to his dramatization, he quickly plucked the nearest dagger from the bar wood with his free hand and placed it into the drunk’s grasp, assuming the alcohol would inspire rash paranoia as he showed off his other bloodied appendage.
”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all.
@ViolentViolet Flicking his crazed gaze across the room, he knew he would need to move fast before the gray beauty could sink her teeth in the neck of the disrespectful alcoholic. Of any creature he had come across, the dark elves were unmatched for their shockingly graceful speed, which meant time was percious.
“I believe the bard and his empress were throwing knives at you, my fine drunk friend.”
Jargo pointed an accusing finger before offering the inebriated man a gentle nudge in the right direction, hoping to tip the first domino in line. @Illogical Jim@NorthernGR
The proud joker than removed himself back against the bar to smear the remainder of the blood off his hand. His impossibly wide grin stretching further across his face as the smell of metallic iron and ethanol mixed into the air, knowing full well that even the least sensitive of noses could pick up the scent. Would it capture a werewolf?
The demon envied himself as a magian and nodded his head. Inconspicuously he popped the tiny yellow body of a blood-drained finch into his rapidly gnashing mouth, silently thanking the avian for its performance before turning his attention on the final group. Jargo’s movements more like a happy dance at this point as he lovingly invaded the space of the youthful nobleman-- displaying a relaxed smile littered with thin bones and feathers.
”Aren’t you the prettiest angel? Has the Maker called you down to Earth to play an undertaker?”
Unable to hold a dignified composure long, the demon snickered with blatant mockery and fiddled with the little prince’s neck ruffle then adding a rude noise and ripped himself away. @Strafe
Hastily, Jargo slinked back to his original stool at the middle of the bar and bubbled with anticipation, almost ready to burst at the seams. Waving a hand in the air, he gave a singsong request before settling in for a show,
“Oh, Barmaster, could you fetch a broom and mop?” @Mokley
Again the luckmeister found himself waiting, feeling too clever for his own good and looking like the perfect idiot. Oops, had he forgotten? How well would the lady hunter and the newcomer handle the blood-fueled frenzy of an unbalanced siren? The thought made his body feel warm and tingly. @BlackCat @karamonnom @AgentFallenSoul
Let’s begin…
BlackCat Ruler of the Underworld ~Nya
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
Edward's charm fell on deaf ears. It didn't spark Milo's attention in any way. The dead were still more fun, and murder was still the best. Life just hung in the balance, easily affected and disrupted by the weakest of things. But death was an imminent concept. No one could escape it. So Edward's charm didn't brighten Milo up at all, in fact it made her even more moody and pissed.
@Strafe
A blacksmith? Why would you ask someone in a bar were you could get your sword repaired. We're most likely here for food and drink, and our own personal gain. But if you must know, no! I don't know where you could get your sword fixed.
Milo was in a bad mood. A very bad mood. And she didn't have any large amount of water near her. She could sing if she had a hand fully submerged, or talk if mor Ethan half of her was in water, but there wasn't any water near. So killing them or wounding them with siren song wasn't going to happen.
@AgentFallenSoul
@Strafe
A blacksmith? Why would you ask someone in a bar were you could get your sword repaired. We're most likely here for food and drink, and our own personal gain. But if you must know, no! I don't know where you could get your sword fixed.
Milo was in a bad mood. A very bad mood. And she didn't have any large amount of water near her. She could sing if she had a hand fully submerged, or talk if mor Ethan half of her was in water, but there wasn't any water near. So killing them or wounding them with siren song wasn't going to happen.
@AgentFallenSoul
GM
Mokley aka windyfiend
Member
Seen
12 mos ago
THE SCENE AT PRESENT
Pallas, Edward, Milo and Seloria sit in conversation at a long table by the hearth. Only Milo has been served a hot drink. Milo's air-written words become more hostile.
Fate makes rounds of the room, waiting on patrons.
Ealdwine, with his lute beside the hearth, defiantly continues to sing a ballad despite Fade's threats of violence for doing so.
At the bar sit Jargo, Dirion and Fade. Dirion has already been drinking for several hours. Jargo the Trickster smears blood on drunken Dirion's neck (which consequently fills the room with the smell of blood) and gives the man a dagger, telling him the bard has attacked him.
WINK
She was only just running the names of open wine cellars through her head when she was stopped by a vaguely familiar voice, though it was smoother and deeper than she remembered. Wink squinted at him with a suspicious step back -- she recognized him, all right, but Uncle Gharlyc was the last thing she might've called him. Stinky old bastard Gharlyc, more like. Seven years had made her wiser and had only made him creepier. @Tricheus
Wink scrubbed a palm over her shoulder where he'd touched her, and she scowled after him, angry because his was the last help she would ever want, but she was forced to grudgingly accept it. Even the thought of the handsome noble inside didn't quite lighten her mood after this encounter. Knowing that Gharlyc had returned -- and that consequently her father was about to sink to even deeper lows -- she dropped the coin in her pocket and returned to the tavern --
-- Which was not in the state she had left it.
The drow was tense and livid, and the nobleman seemed at once displeased with the bard and enamored with at least two other women. Poor Dirion was covered in blood for some reason, and the shiny writing from the one-eyed girl (though Wink couldn't read it) was being written with an angry swipe. The worst of it all was that she only spotted two drinks out of the lot of them, despite the fact that Fate was well doing her job.
Wink was in a mood.
So when her father shook her for an explanation for her lack of wine, she snapped at him, "Gharlyc went for it." With that she pushed past him to the ale casks, filled four tankards, and with two in each hand proceeded to distribute them (each with a quiet bang) before Jargo, Seloria and Pallas. The last was held for Edward, and she managed a flirtatious smile while she laid it before him, but her heart was no longer in it. There were several murderous auras and a palpable tension in the air, and she couldn't bring herself to relax while Gharlyc was in town. @karamonnom@Strafe@AgentFallenSoul@Keplo
Wink caught Fate in crossing and spoke quietly, her eye on the drow and the table full of weapons, "You might want to get the hammers out." @SilverWolfAngel
BUSKER
With a grin and a shaky nod, Busker placed before Fade a round loaf of dark bread and cheese, as well as a bowl of rabbit stew, hoping beyond hope that the dark elf would be pleased with the exceptional service. @ViolentViolet
Instead, she threw a knife at the bard.
The proceeding act of defiance by the bard made Busker's face turn ghostly white -- and then red with livid rage. He raised a finger and opened his mouth so that he might tell this noisemaker, for the sake of peace and of pleasing the patrons, to cease and desist this instant -- but he was interrupted when the door opened and Wink returned empty-handed.
This was a disaster. They were all going to die.
Busker yanked a tuft of hair out of his head, momentarily forgot the bard, and accosted Wink regarding the wine, to be told that this was where Gharlyc had disappeared to. Gharlyc, at least, would bring back a decent bottle.
The odd one at the bar asked for a broom and mop, instead of food or more drink. Busker turned on him with a strained and impatient smile. "Certainly, but whatever for?" @Keplo
Even while he spoke, he kept the drow and the bard in his peripheral vision.
SilverWolfAngel The closer you look / The less you see
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Blood. Oh, she could smell it. Beautiful, rich, blood. Ohhhhh. Someone was unlucky tonight. It wasn't full moon, no. But it was coming, oh yess, it was coming, and that blood, oh, that blood… it just smelled so, sooo good.
”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all.
Hearing that proved it wasn't only her that was smelling that.
Glancing round Fate searched for the source of the smell, it was often hard for her to spot blood, it's crimson colour appearing to her the same as many other colours, what she had eventually grasped was the colour 'yellow' to others, but to Fate a large range of her vision was filled with this 'yellow'. That included blood. As she searched she slipped out from behind the bar, before getting grabbed by Wink @Mokley, who seemed to have returned somewhere in the recent chaos. "You might want to get the hammers out." Fate snorted derisively, duh! while scowling and showing her rapidly lengthening fangs, the only part she had learnt to morph on it's own without shifting into her full wolfified form. She grinned wolfishly, the sort of blood thirsty grin that made lesser men back down, and back down quick. She didn't wait to see Wink's reaction, but simply swished her hips once, letting the hammers resting there catch the light for a second, before sidling past Wink and following the thread of bloody smell.
She was practically licking her chops as she traced the smell, ending up practically in the spot she began, just on the other side of the bar, next to Dirion, from whom the tantalizing sent was drifting.
Her eyes were starting to take on a yellow gleam, not that Fate could see that, and her hands had strayed down to grip the handles of her hammers, letting them slide free from the binding that caught them to her belt. To others, the hammers were heavy enough lifting one with both hands, but Fate was lightly gripping them, one in each hand, having no problems even though the weight was nothing to sneeze at.
She tensed up, not really willing to make the first move, not yet, but ready to join the fight, hammers flying, when the simmering volcano finally blew its top.
”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all.
Hearing that proved it wasn't only her that was smelling that.
Glancing round Fate searched for the source of the smell, it was often hard for her to spot blood, it's crimson colour appearing to her the same as many other colours, what she had eventually grasped was the colour 'yellow' to others, but to Fate a large range of her vision was filled with this 'yellow'. That included blood. As she searched she slipped out from behind the bar, before getting grabbed by Wink @Mokley, who seemed to have returned somewhere in the recent chaos. "You might want to get the hammers out." Fate snorted derisively, duh! while scowling and showing her rapidly lengthening fangs, the only part she had learnt to morph on it's own without shifting into her full wolfified form. She grinned wolfishly, the sort of blood thirsty grin that made lesser men back down, and back down quick. She didn't wait to see Wink's reaction, but simply swished her hips once, letting the hammers resting there catch the light for a second, before sidling past Wink and following the thread of bloody smell.
She was practically licking her chops as she traced the smell, ending up practically in the spot she began, just on the other side of the bar, next to Dirion, from whom the tantalizing sent was drifting.
Her eyes were starting to take on a yellow gleam, not that Fate could see that, and her hands had strayed down to grip the handles of her hammers, letting them slide free from the binding that caught them to her belt. To others, the hammers were heavy enough lifting one with both hands, but Fate was lightly gripping them, one in each hand, having no problems even though the weight was nothing to sneeze at.
She tensed up, not really willing to make the first move, not yet, but ready to join the fight, hammers flying, when the simmering volcano finally blew its top.
The wind blew through the streets, a coldness settling in the town as night fell. The black robes of a small man blew behind him as he quietly walked down the old stone road. He wasn't terribly bothered by the cold, but he didn't dilly dally. His feet took him towards the tavern, which was much warmer than his own home. The young priest didn't get out much, to be honest, but when he did, this was one of his most favorite places to come. His clergy didn't understand why he would spend time in such a...rough place, but he didn't need to explain himself. After all, did Christ not make company of thieves and crooks? They were the ones who needed him most.
His tattered, black shoes barely made a sound as he stepped into the doorway. Luca shut the door behind him, blocking out the cold and wind. The man looked around the tavern, seeing if any familiar faces were present. There were a few; some were regulars, others were new in town. The priest tried to take one step forward, but halfway tripped over a furry lump that had planted itself on his foot.
Luca looked down to meet the large, golden eyes of a grey cat. It mreowed up at him expectantly. This was what he got for feeding them so often. The man chuckled softly as he bent down to pet the cat, then lifted it off his feet so that he could walk. Luca went over to a long, wooden table by the hearth where it was warm, and sat himself down amongst the crowd there.
"Good even, gentlemen. And ladies," He nodded to them, his voice soft but not timid.
@Agentfallensoul@karamonnom@Strafe@Keplo
His tattered, black shoes barely made a sound as he stepped into the doorway. Luca shut the door behind him, blocking out the cold and wind. The man looked around the tavern, seeing if any familiar faces were present. There were a few; some were regulars, others were new in town. The priest tried to take one step forward, but halfway tripped over a furry lump that had planted itself on his foot.
Luca looked down to meet the large, golden eyes of a grey cat. It mreowed up at him expectantly. This was what he got for feeding them so often. The man chuckled softly as he bent down to pet the cat, then lifted it off his feet so that he could walk. Luca went over to a long, wooden table by the hearth where it was warm, and sat himself down amongst the crowd there.
"Good even, gentlemen. And ladies," He nodded to them, his voice soft but not timid.
@Agentfallensoul@karamonnom@Strafe@Keplo
ViolentViolet Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
He was dead. Fade was going to kill the bard.
Dark elves do not often take disrespect lightly, and never will they sit still while another of a lower race spits in their face and insults them; Fade's hand tightened as the knife clattered to the floor and she barely restrained herself from reaching out and slaughtering him right then and there, though the arrival of the man next to her stopped her from moving so quickly. He was drunk, obviously, and very much an idiot for daring to attempt to speak with her as thus. "I wasn't talking to you idiot." The Drow looked at the bartender and tapped the counter lightly. "I do hope your friend arrives soon." She said to him just as she turned to stand and go off to kill the bard, but a man who looked like a joker caught her attention while he approached the drunkard next to her. The scent of blood caught her attention, as it had Fate's from across the bar while the werewolf walked toward her.
"Well hello again Fate. It's been a while."
Fade smiled a wicked smile, one that showed the double set of fangs she had with two on both the top and bottom jaw and the handles of the hammers at her hips were visible again. She had been on one end of those once, though they had only hit her a couple times within the fight and, as far as Fade was aware, she was the only one who had ever beaten her badly enough to show the young werewolf she wasn't invincible. "You shouldn't be giving him that drink, little wolf. He's just going to do something stupid." She commented, glancing from her to Busker where her grin vanished and she turned away, suddenly muttering below her breath for a spell or darkness. She looked directly at the bard down the bar and as her lips parted again a heavy glob of inky blackness descended upon him, taking away all possibility to see from him as she walked toward him, the crowd parting around her as her booted feet landed silently on the hardwood floor. Very little of what she ever did made a noise that any of them would hear, from her lifetime and training in the Underdark where making a sound got you killed.
"I told you to stop playing didn't I, foolish human?"
Dark elves do not often take disrespect lightly, and never will they sit still while another of a lower race spits in their face and insults them; Fade's hand tightened as the knife clattered to the floor and she barely restrained herself from reaching out and slaughtering him right then and there, though the arrival of the man next to her stopped her from moving so quickly. He was drunk, obviously, and very much an idiot for daring to attempt to speak with her as thus. "I wasn't talking to you idiot." The Drow looked at the bartender and tapped the counter lightly. "I do hope your friend arrives soon." She said to him just as she turned to stand and go off to kill the bard, but a man who looked like a joker caught her attention while he approached the drunkard next to her. The scent of blood caught her attention, as it had Fate's from across the bar while the werewolf walked toward her.
"Well hello again Fate. It's been a while."
Fade smiled a wicked smile, one that showed the double set of fangs she had with two on both the top and bottom jaw and the handles of the hammers at her hips were visible again. She had been on one end of those once, though they had only hit her a couple times within the fight and, as far as Fade was aware, she was the only one who had ever beaten her badly enough to show the young werewolf she wasn't invincible. "You shouldn't be giving him that drink, little wolf. He's just going to do something stupid." She commented, glancing from her to Busker where her grin vanished and she turned away, suddenly muttering below her breath for a spell or darkness. She looked directly at the bard down the bar and as her lips parted again a heavy glob of inky blackness descended upon him, taking away all possibility to see from him as she walked toward him, the crowd parting around her as her booted feet landed silently on the hardwood floor. Very little of what she ever did made a noise that any of them would hear, from her lifetime and training in the Underdark where making a sound got you killed.
"I told you to stop playing didn't I, foolish human?"
Benjimus Earth Bender
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
A tall, slender Elf strides into the tavern. By his clothing, golden gilded robes with green linings and a small wooden headdress shaped like a pair of stubby antlers you can tell that he is a Painted Elf, a druid. This Elf quickly made his way to the bar tender and said loudly with a smile on is face.
"Hello friend, What's the best drink you've got I must try it!"
You can tell that he is a bit oblivious, but a very friendly person none the less. While he waits for his drink he turns and leans on the bar scanning the room for his friend, Fate.
"Hello friend, What's the best drink you've got I must try it!"
You can tell that he is a bit oblivious, but a very friendly person none the less. While he waits for his drink he turns and leans on the bar scanning the room for his friend, Fate.
karamonnom Sleepy Girl
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Pallas raised one of her eyebrows, not really trusting Edward's explanation for his peculiar manner, but if he did not want to tell her the truth, who was she to pry? "Yes, the music is quite delightful indeed," she agreed politely. @Strafe
They were approached by a strange woman in a cloak who was looking for a blacksmith. Pallas couldn't help but feel like she had met this woman before... but where? She will investigate later. She saw Milo write some not so nice words in the air once more, but it felt a lot more hostile despite the fact that she wasn't really doing anything wrong. Pallas herself decided to speak with the woman and said, "Welcome, I never did mind more company. The more the merrier, I suppose. I am also new around these parts, but I'm fairly certain I have passed a blacksmith on my way here. I'm sure I could take you later if you want." @AgentFallenSoul @BlackCat
The bar maiden came around and served them all a round of drinks and Pallas did not miss the flirtatious smile she gave Edward. Maybe if Edward wanted she could play a wing woman, not that he needed one.... never mind then. She took a large swallow of ale, feeling a bit more relaxed and more at home. There seemed to be something chaotic going on in here, but bar fights were not uncommon. Pallas would only interfere if it got really out of hand which she might have to soon.
Another man came up to them, a priest of some sort? Pallas gave him a warm smile. "Good evening to you, sir. What brings a priest to a place like this?" she asked, with no ill-intentions. It was just an odd sight to see, a priest in a tavern. She had never seen that before, which was saying something considering she is a bounty hunter and bounty hunters come across a lot of strange situations.@Metronome
They were approached by a strange woman in a cloak who was looking for a blacksmith. Pallas couldn't help but feel like she had met this woman before... but where? She will investigate later. She saw Milo write some not so nice words in the air once more, but it felt a lot more hostile despite the fact that she wasn't really doing anything wrong. Pallas herself decided to speak with the woman and said, "Welcome, I never did mind more company. The more the merrier, I suppose. I am also new around these parts, but I'm fairly certain I have passed a blacksmith on my way here. I'm sure I could take you later if you want." @AgentFallenSoul @BlackCat
The bar maiden came around and served them all a round of drinks and Pallas did not miss the flirtatious smile she gave Edward. Maybe if Edward wanted she could play a wing woman, not that he needed one.... never mind then. She took a large swallow of ale, feeling a bit more relaxed and more at home. There seemed to be something chaotic going on in here, but bar fights were not uncommon. Pallas would only interfere if it got really out of hand which she might have to soon.
Another man came up to them, a priest of some sort? Pallas gave him a warm smile. "Good evening to you, sir. What brings a priest to a place like this?" she asked, with no ill-intentions. It was just an odd sight to see, a priest in a tavern. She had never seen that before, which was saying something considering she is a bounty hunter and bounty hunters come across a lot of strange situations.@Metronome
NorthernGR Schrodinger's Roleplayer
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Despite his sour mood concerning the Drow Diron managed to put that all past him when Fate came with his drink. He picked it up from the bar with a small nod to Fate and took a large drink from it. Yeah, it still tasted horrible. Dirion had know clue how anyone could mess up ale that bad, but Busker always managed to pull through and surprise him evertime.
Dirion just stood their and enjoyed his drink for a bit. He was still surprised at the amount of people that had come through the door. A place like Buskers was for drunks like himself. He hated to think of any of these young men and women ending up like him. With a frown once more on his face Dirion went to take another large swig of his poison before some nutjob yelled right in his ear.
"Oh, gasp! What is this I see?”
Dirion's head jerked to his side to see some man that as far as Dirion could tell looked homeless! The loud yelling in his ear had shaken up the headache he had been nursing for a bit, changing it from a minor annoyance to feeling like someone was kicking his head. With the mood Dirion had been in he was very seriously considering decking the man. Busker would be upset, but who cares? Dirion knew he was better than that though, so after a second of leering at the man Dirion decided to just drop it.
And the very second Dirion decided to drop it the man thought it wise to start touching him! Was this guy drunk too?! Dirion once again felt like punching him but he kept himself reigned in. He would not stoop so low.
The homeless man took his hand away from Dirion's neck to reveal it covered in blood. And then, to really try and get him to punch him the man made a hilarious joke; ”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all."
Funny! Really, really funny. Dirion's fist clenched and he had a look of anger on his face. What's not funny about some maniac Drow throwing a knife at you thinking you were a bard? Nothing! That's what. Dirion started to spit out with as much venom as he could muster and unfortunately with quite a bit of slurring, "Real funny you piece.. of.." And then he paused and thought for a moment.
Where had the blood come from?
With a sickening feeling in his stomach Dirion reached up to his neck. He felt something warm, wet and sticky. And yes he was aware of how that sounded. He brought it back down to his eyes to see it covered in crimson blood. Normally when he was sober Dirion would have realized he didn't feel a wound that could cause the blood, and thus he would try and stay calm until he could figure out if he was even harmed at all. But as you already know Dirion is very much not sober.
His mind started whirling. Who did this to him? How!? He hadn't felt anything happen to him! Did someone attack him while he slept at his table and he had only noticed just now? Wouldn't he of woken up if someone sliced his throat in his sleep? What happened?!
More people were starting to talk and yell. The bard's music that had managed to life his spirits was being drowned out by stomping feet and chattering mouths. He was faintly aware that he was being talked to, by a number of people even. But all it did was serve to confuse him even more. And then in Dirion's panic the answer came to him.
Magic.
Surely it was magic that had harmed him so! No one had touched him so it was the only possible answer. And their was only one magic user he was aware of. The Drow. She had thrown a knife at him not a second earlier and didn't even bother to apologize! With a new rage in his heart Dirion looked down to his hand not caked in blood to find a knife. Had he grabbed it? He must have.
Instead of an ale-colored blur now all that Dirion saw was red. He looked to the part of the bar where the Drow had been to see that she was gone. Stomping off to another part of the room. She thought she could just walk away from him?! Throw a knife at someone and then ignore him eh'? Little did that Drow know that Dirrion also knew how to throw a knife. His time on the road had taught him much. Plus you need something to entertain yourself with when you travel alone.
Gripping the knife by the tip of the blade and completely ignoring the fact that he was far too drunk for this sort of thing Dirrion yelled at the top of his lungs, with unbridled rage in his voice and for the first time tonight his words did not slur. "Hey!"
With his hand behind his head he jerked his arm forward, continuing, "What did you do to me!? And with that he released his grip on the dagger let if fly.
@ViolentViolet @Keplo
Dirion just stood their and enjoyed his drink for a bit. He was still surprised at the amount of people that had come through the door. A place like Buskers was for drunks like himself. He hated to think of any of these young men and women ending up like him. With a frown once more on his face Dirion went to take another large swig of his poison before some nutjob yelled right in his ear.
"Oh, gasp! What is this I see?”
Dirion's head jerked to his side to see some man that as far as Dirion could tell looked homeless! The loud yelling in his ear had shaken up the headache he had been nursing for a bit, changing it from a minor annoyance to feeling like someone was kicking his head. With the mood Dirion had been in he was very seriously considering decking the man. Busker would be upset, but who cares? Dirion knew he was better than that though, so after a second of leering at the man Dirion decided to just drop it.
And the very second Dirion decided to drop it the man thought it wise to start touching him! Was this guy drunk too?! Dirion once again felt like punching him but he kept himself reigned in. He would not stoop so low.
The homeless man took his hand away from Dirion's neck to reveal it covered in blood. And then, to really try and get him to punch him the man made a hilarious joke; ”Oh, my! Looks like you are the bloodiest of us all."
Funny! Really, really funny. Dirion's fist clenched and he had a look of anger on his face. What's not funny about some maniac Drow throwing a knife at you thinking you were a bard? Nothing! That's what. Dirion started to spit out with as much venom as he could muster and unfortunately with quite a bit of slurring, "Real funny you piece.. of.." And then he paused and thought for a moment.
Where had the blood come from?
With a sickening feeling in his stomach Dirion reached up to his neck. He felt something warm, wet and sticky. And yes he was aware of how that sounded. He brought it back down to his eyes to see it covered in crimson blood. Normally when he was sober Dirion would have realized he didn't feel a wound that could cause the blood, and thus he would try and stay calm until he could figure out if he was even harmed at all. But as you already know Dirion is very much not sober.
His mind started whirling. Who did this to him? How!? He hadn't felt anything happen to him! Did someone attack him while he slept at his table and he had only noticed just now? Wouldn't he of woken up if someone sliced his throat in his sleep? What happened?!
More people were starting to talk and yell. The bard's music that had managed to life his spirits was being drowned out by stomping feet and chattering mouths. He was faintly aware that he was being talked to, by a number of people even. But all it did was serve to confuse him even more. And then in Dirion's panic the answer came to him.
Magic.
Surely it was magic that had harmed him so! No one had touched him so it was the only possible answer. And their was only one magic user he was aware of. The Drow. She had thrown a knife at him not a second earlier and didn't even bother to apologize! With a new rage in his heart Dirion looked down to his hand not caked in blood to find a knife. Had he grabbed it? He must have.
Instead of an ale-colored blur now all that Dirion saw was red. He looked to the part of the bar where the Drow had been to see that she was gone. Stomping off to another part of the room. She thought she could just walk away from him?! Throw a knife at someone and then ignore him eh'? Little did that Drow know that Dirrion also knew how to throw a knife. His time on the road had taught him much. Plus you need something to entertain yourself with when you travel alone.
Gripping the knife by the tip of the blade and completely ignoring the fact that he was far too drunk for this sort of thing Dirrion yelled at the top of his lungs, with unbridled rage in his voice and for the first time tonight his words did not slur. "Hey!"
With his hand behind his head he jerked his arm forward, continuing, "What did you do to me!? And with that he released his grip on the dagger let if fly.
@ViolentViolet @Keplo
Strafe drnt drnt drnt
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Pallas seemed taken by the music as well. Fair enough, but he was quite disappointed that she would say that of Ealdwine.
It was also quite unfortunate that the young eyepatched girl seemed to want no part in his pleasantries, and Edward was quite at a loss. But no matter. What could be done if the girl simply did not have the desire, nay, the ability to trade words of import?
He did not have to ponder over Milo for long, as a rather scantily clad, but cloaked woman approached, donning yet another eyepatch. It seemed as if the tavern’s combined depth perception continued to deteriorate by the hour.
"Seems I’m new to this place, and you three seem to be some of the nicer of people here, where could an oldie like me find a blacksmith? It seems old faithful has given out on me"
Edward brightened up at her entrance, half out of reflex, but half out of genuine relief that the tension with Milo could be broken and conversation could continue. He wasn’t quite so used to all of this direct confrontation.
The sultry barmaid brought along tankards of Ale for all of them, and he returned her flirtatious smile with a tip of the hat, and confident smile of his own. Taking a sip of the ale however, his expression immediately soured, and he hesitantly placed the tankard back on the bar counter. Disgusting commoner drink, and a far cry from the fine ales of the trappist monks. But as he had trained himself to do, he reapplied his smile, and let the night continue.
He let Milo and Pallas have their first words to the newcomer, then he laughed, and waved a hand in play dismissal of Milo’s affront. “Oh madame, while I cannot help you on your search for a blacksmith, surely you need not refer to yourself as one so advanced in age! One need only take a cursory glance at you to conclude that Juventus herself (Roman Goddess of youth) would envy your beauty. To what then do I owe the honor, if I have the pleasure of entertaining your company for longer than just a moment?”
Yet another figure approached, clad in black robes, holding a content gray cat. It was becoming quite the crowd. It was a young clergyman, who sat down at the table and addressed them in a kind priestly voice.
But Edward was allergic to cats.
He could not help himself from shooting tentative glances at the wicked ball of fur as he greeted the stranger. “Ah, hallowed be the name of the Lord, and greetings in Christ, dear priest.” As much as he tried to put on airs however, his attention was solely fixed on the damned creature. He could feel the skin on his neck beginning to itch.
No really. He could feel the ruffle of his shirt toyed around with.
Immediately, he whipped around and saw a feathery skeleton bird cloak laughing at him. Nay, a man in a feathery skeleton bird cloak laughing at him. Another interruption. By God, Edward had never been so rudely interrupted so frequently before in his life.
”Aren’t you the prettiest angel? Has the Maker called you down to Earth to play an undertaker?”
The voice sounded from within the figure, deep but treacherously humored, sending a chill down his spine.
But a man of the house of Hart-Ellington would not take this lying down. As the man fled back to his seat, he immediately abandoned his companions, and pulled the hand cannon from his back, pointing it at the retreating figure.
But It was only for show. He wasn’t going to shoot it. Heavens no.
He yelped, “Good sir, I hope you are prepared to apologize for this grave travesty of honor. You should know better than to--”
SSLASHH-- A sharp pain flooded Edward’s arm as a flying dagger ripped through his coat and bit into the flesh of his arm. Blood splattered as he cried out, and his arm flailed wildly.
Then his finger pulled the trigger out of reflex.
BANG
Edward’s hand cannon discharged, sending twenty lethal pellets of hot lead flying across the tavern.
@karamonnom @BlackCat @AgentFallenSoul @Mokley @Metronome @Keplo @NorthernGR @Benjimus @Illogical Jim @ViolentViolet @SilverWolfAngel
It was also quite unfortunate that the young eyepatched girl seemed to want no part in his pleasantries, and Edward was quite at a loss. But no matter. What could be done if the girl simply did not have the desire, nay, the ability to trade words of import?
He did not have to ponder over Milo for long, as a rather scantily clad, but cloaked woman approached, donning yet another eyepatch. It seemed as if the tavern’s combined depth perception continued to deteriorate by the hour.
"Seems I’m new to this place, and you three seem to be some of the nicer of people here, where could an oldie like me find a blacksmith? It seems old faithful has given out on me"
Edward brightened up at her entrance, half out of reflex, but half out of genuine relief that the tension with Milo could be broken and conversation could continue. He wasn’t quite so used to all of this direct confrontation.
The sultry barmaid brought along tankards of Ale for all of them, and he returned her flirtatious smile with a tip of the hat, and confident smile of his own. Taking a sip of the ale however, his expression immediately soured, and he hesitantly placed the tankard back on the bar counter. Disgusting commoner drink, and a far cry from the fine ales of the trappist monks. But as he had trained himself to do, he reapplied his smile, and let the night continue.
He let Milo and Pallas have their first words to the newcomer, then he laughed, and waved a hand in play dismissal of Milo’s affront. “Oh madame, while I cannot help you on your search for a blacksmith, surely you need not refer to yourself as one so advanced in age! One need only take a cursory glance at you to conclude that Juventus herself (Roman Goddess of youth) would envy your beauty. To what then do I owe the honor, if I have the pleasure of entertaining your company for longer than just a moment?”
Yet another figure approached, clad in black robes, holding a content gray cat. It was becoming quite the crowd. It was a young clergyman, who sat down at the table and addressed them in a kind priestly voice.
But Edward was allergic to cats.
He could not help himself from shooting tentative glances at the wicked ball of fur as he greeted the stranger. “Ah, hallowed be the name of the Lord, and greetings in Christ, dear priest.” As much as he tried to put on airs however, his attention was solely fixed on the damned creature. He could feel the skin on his neck beginning to itch.
No really. He could feel the ruffle of his shirt toyed around with.
Immediately, he whipped around and saw a feathery skeleton bird cloak laughing at him. Nay, a man in a feathery skeleton bird cloak laughing at him. Another interruption. By God, Edward had never been so rudely interrupted so frequently before in his life.
”Aren’t you the prettiest angel? Has the Maker called you down to Earth to play an undertaker?”
The voice sounded from within the figure, deep but treacherously humored, sending a chill down his spine.
But a man of the house of Hart-Ellington would not take this lying down. As the man fled back to his seat, he immediately abandoned his companions, and pulled the hand cannon from his back, pointing it at the retreating figure.
But It was only for show. He wasn’t going to shoot it. Heavens no.
He yelped, “Good sir, I hope you are prepared to apologize for this grave travesty of honor. You should know better than to--”
SSLASHH-- A sharp pain flooded Edward’s arm as a flying dagger ripped through his coat and bit into the flesh of his arm. Blood splattered as he cried out, and his arm flailed wildly.
Then his finger pulled the trigger out of reflex.
BANG
Edward’s hand cannon discharged, sending twenty lethal pellets of hot lead flying across the tavern.
@karamonnom @BlackCat @AgentFallenSoul @Mokley @Metronome @Keplo @NorthernGR @Benjimus @Illogical Jim @ViolentViolet @SilverWolfAngel
ViolentViolet Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
She hadn't even made it to his quarry yet when she heard the yelling from behind her, ignoring the smell of blood of course though as she turned she saw the glint of a blade in the air, as if the mere human thought he could even come close to being able to hit a Drow who had gone through three of his lifetimes training before she'd even stepped foot outside of the city she had been born in. Her own cold fury had been directed largely at the bard who had continued to sing until she'd muffled that racket with the glob of darkness that surrounded him and steadily grew larger to engulf more of the room; it would continue thus until the spell wore off and she would finish her business before then. She whirled, her lavender eyes easily finding the dagger that had been thrown through the air at her, and she stepped to the side just enough that it missed, passing by her to find itself in a different target - most likely one of those either not paying attention, or the bard trapped in the glob that would stop him from seeing for a little while.
She'd barely been gone fifteen feet from him when he'd thrown the dagger, stepping around it and turning on her heel with such a swiftness that her cloak flared when she stepped forward again, her eyes finding the drunks and her fury clear in her eyes as cold as glacial ice. "You want to die first?" She growled at him, her gaze flickering for a moment toward the demon who leaned against the bar, seeming very satisfied with himself. It was him who was manipulating the young human, and her desire to kill found it's way toward her instead as she moved to find her way toward the two closer to the bar again.
That was when the heat touched Fades arm, the bit exposed by the lack of the cloak for a moment as the resounding bang echoed through the tavern and she felt blood drink from a throbbing hole in her upper arm again.
She'd barely been gone fifteen feet from him when he'd thrown the dagger, stepping around it and turning on her heel with such a swiftness that her cloak flared when she stepped forward again, her eyes finding the drunks and her fury clear in her eyes as cold as glacial ice. "You want to die first?" She growled at him, her gaze flickering for a moment toward the demon who leaned against the bar, seeming very satisfied with himself. It was him who was manipulating the young human, and her desire to kill found it's way toward her instead as she moved to find her way toward the two closer to the bar again.
That was when the heat touched Fades arm, the bit exposed by the lack of the cloak for a moment as the resounding bang echoed through the tavern and she felt blood drink from a throbbing hole in her upper arm again.
Luca smiled at the greeting from the man across the table from him. The man's discomfort and hardened gaze towards the feline didn't go unnoticed. Luca set the cat down on the floor and shooed it away. The cat gave another, uninterested meow as it slunk off. Luca looked back up at the man and nodded to him. He then turned to the woman who asked what business he had there.
"Opportunity, frau," He said, his accent not too thick to understand, but still very much there. "It's places like these that the Lord is needed most."
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the air in the tavern grew tense. Luca turned around to watch the fight between. Magic sparked, knives where thrown, a gun went off. Things were getting rough, and the priest, probably looking as though he had some sort of death wish, stood to put himself in the middle of it.
Luca went to the man who had been injured by the knife. "You're arm, are you okay, herr?" Luca barely managed to ask over all of the commotion. His jaw set. The priest stood and marched over to the man who had thrown the knife. "Stop this!" He said, his voice suddenly gaining volume. "Can't you see you are hurting innocent people? What are you doing?!"
@karamonnom@NorthernGR@Strafe
"Opportunity, frau," He said, his accent not too thick to understand, but still very much there. "It's places like these that the Lord is needed most."
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the air in the tavern grew tense. Luca turned around to watch the fight between. Magic sparked, knives where thrown, a gun went off. Things were getting rough, and the priest, probably looking as though he had some sort of death wish, stood to put himself in the middle of it.
Luca went to the man who had been injured by the knife. "You're arm, are you okay, herr?" Luca barely managed to ask over all of the commotion. His jaw set. The priest stood and marched over to the man who had thrown the knife. "Stop this!" He said, his voice suddenly gaining volume. "Can't you see you are hurting innocent people? What are you doing?!"
@karamonnom@NorthernGR@Strafe
Illogical Jim A Bleedin Bard
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Quite a few things seemed to be happening at once, now, but Ealdwine's gaze remained firmly fixed on the drow, his voice plodding through the lyrics and his fingers unerring in their performance. He felt an inkling of pride at her darkening expression. Ha! Not much used to the unbidden tongue of a free man, eh? He imagined she was used to being obeyed by males and feared by non-drow. But she would have no such pleasure from he! Nay, nay!
And then the drow maid turned toward him, and everything began to darken. The music faltered for the first time since the knife had been tossed. He could see nothing. His left hand went instinctively to his sword, loosing it in its scabbard.
"I told you to stop playing didn't I, foolish human?"
Ealdwine did not have to see to know who spoke. Fear gripped him, then. But he did not cry out, but offered a hearty laugh instead. She would not have the satisfaction of terror, by the gods! He had been pushed too far. Suffered too many bitter disappointments. Been scorned once too many times by fate itself. He did not want to die hungry. He did not want to die sober. He did not want to die at all, truthfully. But he would die on his feet, as he had lived- and that would be enough.
He called out loudly, uncertain how far away the drow actually was.
“You would sooner dance, dear lady?” he asked, a violent, mocking mirth creeping into his voice.
“A romp in the darkness, aye! We hardly know one another- but its never stopped my blade from striking home before. Come, and let us become acquainted!”
But he heard her voice again, evidently addressing another.
“You want to die first?"
And then, before he could even register that comment,
BANG.
Now that rattled the bard. He felt something pass dangerously close- a magical missile, perhaps? Panic rising, he ran his off hand across Arthelia's curved body. He found, to his utter horror, a sizable chip in her neck- and a broken string.
And then Ealdwine snapped, tossing his lute carelessly across his back. He drew his rapier, shouting. All pretense of civility fell away, and he uttered a lengthy stream of every applicable racist and sexist slur and epithet he knew, the most repeatable of which being 'thrice-damned, knife-eared strumpet!' After a brief moment of rapid firing vulgarities, he settled into simply yelling one particular four-letter Anglo-Saxon word, much too inappropriate to record here, dear readers.
He charged blindly toward where he assumed the drow was, his sword slashing this way and stabbing that way.
And then the drow maid turned toward him, and everything began to darken. The music faltered for the first time since the knife had been tossed. He could see nothing. His left hand went instinctively to his sword, loosing it in its scabbard.
"I told you to stop playing didn't I, foolish human?"
Ealdwine did not have to see to know who spoke. Fear gripped him, then. But he did not cry out, but offered a hearty laugh instead. She would not have the satisfaction of terror, by the gods! He had been pushed too far. Suffered too many bitter disappointments. Been scorned once too many times by fate itself. He did not want to die hungry. He did not want to die sober. He did not want to die at all, truthfully. But he would die on his feet, as he had lived- and that would be enough.
He called out loudly, uncertain how far away the drow actually was.
“You would sooner dance, dear lady?” he asked, a violent, mocking mirth creeping into his voice.
“A romp in the darkness, aye! We hardly know one another- but its never stopped my blade from striking home before. Come, and let us become acquainted!”
But he heard her voice again, evidently addressing another.
“You want to die first?"
And then, before he could even register that comment,
BANG.
Now that rattled the bard. He felt something pass dangerously close- a magical missile, perhaps? Panic rising, he ran his off hand across Arthelia's curved body. He found, to his utter horror, a sizable chip in her neck- and a broken string.
And then Ealdwine snapped, tossing his lute carelessly across his back. He drew his rapier, shouting. All pretense of civility fell away, and he uttered a lengthy stream of every applicable racist and sexist slur and epithet he knew, the most repeatable of which being 'thrice-damned, knife-eared strumpet!' After a brief moment of rapid firing vulgarities, he settled into simply yelling one particular four-letter Anglo-Saxon word, much too inappropriate to record here, dear readers.
He charged blindly toward where he assumed the drow was, his sword slashing this way and stabbing that way.
Benjimus Earth Bender
Member
Seen
9 yrs ago
The eleven stranger, still smiling continues to scan the room for his friend Fate. The sirly bartender hands the Elf a chipped, bone mug that looked rather old and dirty but inside the mug held a Amber liquid, the bartender said with a gruff voice,
"That's the finest drink we got my friend, I call it 'Dragons Fire' be carful it's very strong."
The Elf turned, thanked the Bartender, turned back around and leaned on the counter once again. Before he could take a drink he suddenly spotted Fate! She was yelling at a bard and she looked very mad. The elf smiled, shut his eyes and began to day dream about the adventure he had shared with Fate, fighting monsters and finding loot, it was a happy thought. He was very pleased at the thought of Fate needing him for another adventure, he had enjoyed the last one so muc--
BANG!
His eyes snapped opened and his hands flew up into the air spilling his drink on the people around him. Someone had fired a gun and Fate was fighting with the bard.
The Elf began to walk towards Fate, he looked worried and thought to himself,
"This is no way to begin our adventure! I must intervene, perhaps Fate needs my help."
"That's the finest drink we got my friend, I call it 'Dragons Fire' be carful it's very strong."
The Elf turned, thanked the Bartender, turned back around and leaned on the counter once again. Before he could take a drink he suddenly spotted Fate! She was yelling at a bard and she looked very mad. The elf smiled, shut his eyes and began to day dream about the adventure he had shared with Fate, fighting monsters and finding loot, it was a happy thought. He was very pleased at the thought of Fate needing him for another adventure, he had enjoyed the last one so muc--
BANG!
His eyes snapped opened and his hands flew up into the air spilling his drink on the people around him. Someone had fired a gun and Fate was fighting with the bard.
The Elf began to walk towards Fate, he looked worried and thought to himself,
"This is no way to begin our adventure! I must intervene, perhaps Fate needs my help."
It took forever, but Gharlyc was finally able to find a trader for the expensive wine. On his way back to the Bawdy Dog, he thought about how this cost was worth it to re-solidify his friendship with Busker, to show that Gharlyc was someone he could trust and rely on. Gharlyc needed a place to lay low for the time being, and Busker's tavern just seemed so much better than the old church in town. He was already trotting at a brisk pace to get back, but after hearing the loud Bang, Gharlyc was startled out of his thoughts and full out ran into the back entrance of the tavern and snuck through the storage and kitchen to peer into the bar.
Chaos... pure and simple. Weapons were out (there was already blood), too many people standing up and facing off against others...
Gharlyc didn't know what to do. He needed to be in hiding, to not stand out. But Busker was the only friend he could rely on in this crap world, and even if it is a crap tavern, it was still Busker's. Busker didn't like trouble, and especially didn't like violence. Gharlyc needed to do something...
With a sigh Gharlyc first runs over to Pallas, reaching up to gently tap her on her forearm to get her attention (Gharlyc is very, very short).
"Oh renowned bounty hunter! The people in here are in peril! I would ask for your assistance in putting a stop to these arguments and quarrels, physically if need be."
@karamonnom
Then scampering over to Fade, putting himself between her and Ealdwine, he addressed her in a very demure and servile manner holding up the bottle of honeyed raspberry wine in one hand while holding up his knife in the other towards Ealdwine to desperately fend his enraged blows.
"Madame Drow, I apologize for the late delivery, but here is the wine you have asked for. And if it pleases you, we can offer you a private room so that you may enjoy a quiet evening free from the noise of this rabble. Ah, for no charge of course, as an apology for the poor service we have rendered thus far."
@ViolentViolet
"And you, Bard! Still yourself for a moment before you do me an injury! I have no quarrel with you. Perhaps we can reach an accommodation to appease you as well?"
@Illogical Jim
Chaos... pure and simple. Weapons were out (there was already blood), too many people standing up and facing off against others...
Gharlyc didn't know what to do. He needed to be in hiding, to not stand out. But Busker was the only friend he could rely on in this crap world, and even if it is a crap tavern, it was still Busker's. Busker didn't like trouble, and especially didn't like violence. Gharlyc needed to do something...
With a sigh Gharlyc first runs over to Pallas, reaching up to gently tap her on her forearm to get her attention (Gharlyc is very, very short).
"Oh renowned bounty hunter! The people in here are in peril! I would ask for your assistance in putting a stop to these arguments and quarrels, physically if need be."
@karamonnom
Then scampering over to Fade, putting himself between her and Ealdwine, he addressed her in a very demure and servile manner holding up the bottle of honeyed raspberry wine in one hand while holding up his knife in the other towards Ealdwine to desperately fend his enraged blows.
"Madame Drow, I apologize for the late delivery, but here is the wine you have asked for. And if it pleases you, we can offer you a private room so that you may enjoy a quiet evening free from the noise of this rabble. Ah, for no charge of course, as an apology for the poor service we have rendered thus far."
@ViolentViolet
"And you, Bard! Still yourself for a moment before you do me an injury! I have no quarrel with you. Perhaps we can reach an accommodation to appease you as well?"
@Illogical Jim
3 Guests
viewing this page
of
5
© 2007-2024